


Dragged Up

by hit_the_books



Series: Bitter Actions [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam, Episode: s12e17 The British Invasion, Fear of Discovery, Frottage, Grinding, Kissing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Self-Loathing, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 19:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10623930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: Sam's still so unsure of what he and Dean have. Drinking one night with Dean and Mick, Sam's thoughts spiral down into a deep pit of despair.Coda to the night of drinking in 12.17 The British Invasion.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the March-April 2017 round of the [Wincest Writing Challenge](http://wincestwritingchallenge.tumblr.com/). My prompt was [this pic from 4.19](http://i.imgur.com/iDbqvY3.jpg) and hurt!Sam, and my partner was [ilovejared](http://ilovejared.tumblr.com/).
> 
> If you haven't read the previous parts in Bitter Actions then you should probably do that before reading this. Not 100% essential, but would probably help.

Sam’s wrists screamed at him. The tease of his blood seeping away made Sam feel like he was drifting on a warm breeze with a pool of dark cold water just inches below him. Then Dean came to him and then—

It was over. They’d never met their half-brother, never met John’s mistake or hope. Sam couldn’t tell either way what John had been thinking with keeping Adam in his life, treating him like a real boy. The hurt he’d felt as he’d watched the real Adam’s body go up in flames on a hunter’s funeral pyre? It was part sadness, part aches from the abuse his own body had suffered in order to find the truth.

But even back then, Sam had been grateful that Adam wasn’t really Adam. He didn’t need another pair of eyes around to catch him slipping up. Another pair of eyes to see the way his own lingered far too long on his brother Dean. The time of Adam's resurrection had been awkward enough. 

That was the past. Here and now, as he and Dean drank and were merry, or morose, with Mick, Sam couldn’t tell if the shared burden was working. Dean had confessed to wanting Sam weeks ago, and then they’d been thrown into hunt after, hunt, after hunt, keeping their distance from Mary as need necessitated it or didn’t. And it was Sam’s own fault for thinking that maybe the BMOL could help with what was their vocation in life, and rolling with it. His own fault for filling their time with no freedom to be themselves out of some sense of duty to the world. _I shouldn’t have dragged Dean into this. Fuck everything, we could have just grabbed a few days. Said no to hunts. Stayed here…_ Sam looked at his empty whiskey glass.

No time to be free together. Adam was a distant memory, but whenever someone started to get close to either himself or Dean, Sam’s thoughts would wander, trip back to the pain and that brush with death. He’d wonder how on Earth he and Dean could have anything without everyone else knowing. The fear of friendly stares turning to gazes of disgust was something that had held Sam back from showing Dean his true feelings.

He’d wanted Dean years before those ghouls had deceived them, but Sam hadn’t wanted the shame that would have come with anyone else knowing. Mick was an interloper who would judge, and unlike Adam, he would be able to use that against Dean and Sam.

Sitting back in the library chair, Sam ignored whatever the conversation between Mick and Dean had turned to. Too late, Sam realized that it had been a mistake to drink as much whiskey as he had. He hadn’t drunk heavily for years and his body was getting too old for this crap.

And Sam’s mind was too filled with pain to make going on a bender a real option anymore, because all the booze did was just churn up the memories, the hurts, physical and psychological, and spin them around in his head. Spin them like they were relevant and here, the past becoming the present so that it could tear at him anew, spreading him like a bloody smear across this plain of existence.

Burying himself under his own dark thoughts, Sam chuckled silently, thinking about how pointless it was for any monster or human to tie him down and pick him apart. They didn’t need to do all that heavy lifting, all they needed to do was to just sit Sam down with more more than six fingers of whiskey and he could start in on himself. Just strip himself away piece by piece, until there was nothing left but a weeping idiot who couldn’t get past desiring to be with his brother in ways that he shouldn’t, even when his brother was on board.

“Sam?” Dean’s voice broke through Sam’s spiralling loathing and he lifted his head above the dark cold water.

Sam looked up at Dean, ignoring the way Mick glanced between them, but kept his mouth shut. Dean held up a whiskey bottle, another one, under his nose, silently asking if Sam wanted more. Licking his lips, Sam placed his empty glass down on a table and rose.

He needed to stop thinking, but drinking wasn’t stopping him. “I’m gonna head to bed,” said Sam, turning away from Dean and Mick. He didn’t even mutter a “goodnight” as his long, swaying limbs took him out of the library and towards the bedrooms.

Hurried footsteps followed after Sam, but he ignored them. Just kept on walking as he tried so hard to net all this wandering thoughts together and shut them inside a heavy box marked “Give up hope, all ye who enter here”.

“Hey,” Dean huffed, hand spinning Sam around and pushing him up against a wall. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve hardly said a word all night.”

Gazing up into Dean’s green eyes, Sam licked his lips again, the box almost closed. The worry almost hidden away until the next time he drank in company he didn’t want. “I’d hoped… We wouldn’t have company.” A half-truth.

Frowning a little, Dean leaned in closer, whiskey warm breath ghosting over Sam’s face. The drink was making his brother bold, even if they did have company. “Oh, you do, do you?” Dean nudged his left thigh between Sam’s legs, moved his right hand to Sam’s waist and curved his left hand around the back of Sam’s neck.

“Dean,” Sam pleaded in a soft whisper. He could see the desire, newly unveiled, burning in Dean’s black pupils that were almost swallowing the green of his irises.

“Sammy,” Dean whispered back. His lips met Sam’s and stole a kiss that wasn’t what Sam had wanted when he’d left their drinking. Dean’s body was a hard hot line against his own, and the press of Dean’s leg and the weight of his lips had Sam opening up to his brother as need won out against reason and fear.

They kissed and they weren’t in the Bunker. They were alone in all of existence and it was just them. No judgement could find them as Dean sheltered Sam’s body with his own and doused Sam in love and want.

Eyes might find them, but as Dean stole his way into Sam’s mouth with his teasing tongue, Sam shut the box inside his head, locking it up tight. No Mick. No Adam. No mom even. It was just him and Dean. He didn’t have to worry. _We can do this_ , Sam promised himself. _We can and we will, and we’re… not going to stop for anyone._

The warmth of Dean bled into Sam and he pushed his hands up under Dean’s shirts. Needing that reassurance, which Dean met by leaning into it, basking in the contact. Dean pressed against Sam harder, hips rocking as they kissed. It was a slow teasing grind, that eventually had Sam full and hard, gasping into Dean’s mouth.

“Want you so much, baby boy,” Dean whispered against Sam’s lips for a moment. “I know we can’t tonight, but I saw how you were. Need you to know so you can sleep. Need you to know,” Dean explained in the confusion of being a handsy drunk. His hips rocked and rocked, again and again, pressing his hardness against Sam’s as his hands caressed Sam's neck and side.

“Dean…” Sam gasped, words failing him as his body drank in the attention.

“No matter what,” Dean whispered still, “you gotta understand. I need you. You need me… s-not ever gonna change… I don’t care… what these British dicks do… or mom… anyone… you and me.” Dean’s lips latched onto Sam’s again, hot wet tongue shoving into Sam’s mouth.

Sam moaned and held on as the drag of their clothed, rutting bodies pulled Sam to a crest of joy he had had no intention of experiencing when he’d left the library. His mind spun with the thoughts of Dean wanting him no matter what, of needing him to know this. There was a growing dampness in Sam’s underwear, but he didn’t care as Dean pressed and dragged their bodies together, stealing his air with every kiss.

Without warning, Sam’s orgasm hit and he cried out into Dean’s hungry mouth as Dean followed him. They panted and shook in eachother’s arms, Sam still pressed up against the wall as their spend dampened the insides of their clothes.

Dean kissed Sam’s jaw. “I’m gonna go clean up. Then… I’ll hang with Mick,” Dean explained, voice earnest despite the booze. “You get to bed. I’ll see you… morning?”

“Morning,” Sam agreed and found Dean’s lips. He kissed his brother, hoping that the kiss let him know that he was thankful. “Love you,” Sam whispered as he pulled back a little.

Dean’s eyes widened with shock, and then understanding sank in. He gave Sam the happiest smiled he’d seen on his brother’s face in a long time. “Love you… too,” Dean whispered. Sam smiled back and tried not to cry at the way his heart felt so light there and then.

Closing the distance again, Sam gently kissed Dean’s cheek and he could feel Dean finally blush at that. Silently, they untangled from each other, then Sam and Dean parted. Sam kept his box locked up tight. His doubts and pain didn’t find him again that night.

**Author's Note:**

> Again, depending on season 12 goes, and even the writing challenge, will affect whether I add to this series.
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at [dreamsfromthebunker](https://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/).


End file.
